


Illuminated

by andchaos



Series: Holiday Fluff 'verse [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Car Sex, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Grinding, M/M, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:27:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andchaos/pseuds/andchaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's never been very good at Valentine's Day. Turns out, Cas might be even worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Illuminated

**Author's Note:**

> There is not a plot. Don’t look for one. I just wrote 10k of pointless fluff and horniness. Pointless. And I need to stop getting titles from songs and tv episodes. Whatever. Pointless. Happy Valentine’s Day, bitches.

Unattached Drifter Christmas would work a lot better if Dean wasn’t currently in a stable, monogamous relationship in the middle of February.

          He wasn’t entirely sure when his life had spun wildly out of control, because the weird part was that he wasn’t even particularly upset when he woke up on the fourteenth and wasn’t in bed with some random, anonymous person and wasn’t thinking about how to _get_ in bed with some random, anonymous person by the end of the day. For the first time in several years, he wasn’t alone, and he didn’t feel even the vaguest flicker of regret that his current relationship was preventing him from later picking up as many different people as possible.

          The sunlight was doing the same annoying thing it always did at seven o’clock in the morning when they forgot to close the curtains the night before: Shining directly onto Dean’s pillow, right across his face. Immediately after blinking awake, he squinted his eyes shut again and slung an arm over his head. When he tried to roll over he was blocked by a body, with an arm and a leg each slung over the other side of the bed and a shin tangled up with Dean’s own somewhere under the bunched-up sheets that didn’t even cover their waists. The body grumbled.

          Dean poked him in the side and said, “Move over, Cas. The sun’s in my eyes.”

          Cas rolled in the wrong direction so that he was half-plastered over Dean’s body. When Dean shoved half-heartedly at him, he shuffled around so that he was draped slightly more comfortably, but he was now fully on top of him, breathing into his ear and tickling his bare feet with his socks. At least his body blocked the sun. Dean groaned, slung an arm over his waist, and turned away to press his face to the side of Cas’s. Cas grunted something unintelligible.

          “What?”

          “Your scruff is hurting my chest,” Cas repeated, lifting his mouth away from the sheets.

          “I didn’t tell you not to wear a shirt to bed.”

          “You didn’t complain.”

          “I’m not shaving,” Dean said stubbornly, in the tone that would usually be accompanied by him crossing his arms if he was currently able.

          Cas muttered something else and slouched back over him. Finding it difficult to breathe properly with six feet of dead weight on him, Dean tried to prod him off again; Cas pressed his limbs closer to Dean’s form and burrowed into his neck, nose poking his ear. Effectively giving up on more rest, Dean sighed and stared up at the ceiling, splaying out more completely so that he was pressed flat against the mattress. Cas gave a small hum of contentment and continued sleeping, snuffling a little and trying to curl himself around the prone body beneath him, to no success.

          They stayed like that for half an hour, partially because Dean was secretly a good person but predominately because Cas groaned (in a totally non-adorable way) and pressed himself closer every time Dean tried to move even slightly. Eventually, though, he heard someone pattering around the kitchen, and called out, “Sam!” Cas mumbled nonsensically and moved so that his elbow dug harshly into Dean’s side.

          Sam slipped into the room, rumpled and barefoot, and raised his brow at his brother’s pleading look, unimpressed. “What’s up?”

          “A little help here?” he said, gesturing at the body on top of him.

          “Just push him off,” said Sam, covering his yawn and stretching.

          “No way! You do it, and you can deal with his grumpy face all day.” After a solid minute of staring each other down, Dean added, “I can’t breathe here, man, seriously.”

          Sam rolled his eyes and padded forward, shoving his big moose arms under Cas and flipping him onto his back on the other half of the bed. When Cas cracked his eyes open to glower impressively at him, Sam said, “Get up. I’m making bacon, egg, and cheeses.”

          “You are?” Dean piped up excitedly.

          Sam turned to glare at him. “I am now,” he said pointedly. Dean looked away.

          When Sam left, the first thing Cas did was roll over onto his stomach, his arm flopping over Dean’s side. Dean threw him off before he could get comfortable, sitting up and pulling Cas up with him. He went, overdramatic and floppy, throwing his arms around Dean’s neck and pressing his face to his chest. When he spoke, his voice came out slightly muffled.

          “Your brother’s an ass.”

          Dean rubbed his back, slow and hard enough to be nearly a massage; Cas trembled exultantly, humming against his shirt. “One of us had to be,” Dean mumbled into his hair. “It’s what allowed me to have the charming personality and fantastic looks.”

          Cas huffed a laugh and sat back, his hands falling into his lap, looking hopelessly disheveled with his extra squinty eyes and pout. Dean repressed a smile and pressed a kiss to the side of his mouth—because seriously, fuck morning breath—and then swung his legs onto the floor, standing and stretching and feeling Cas’s eyes on the strip of skin revealed by the lift of his t-shirt. He kept the pose for slightly longer than necessary, basking in the attention, then dragged Cas up by his hand from where he had fallen back onto the pillows.

          “No going back to sleep,” Dean instructed, while Cas leaned his head against the leg of Dean’s sweatpants and closed his eyes. Despite his quiet command, he raked his hand through Cas’s hair, soothing and lulling. “Sammy’s cooking.”

          “But I’m not hungry,” Cas protested, twisting his hands loosely into the back of Dean’s green tee in an attempt to anchor him there, too sleepy for his grip to have any real force.

          “You will be when you wake up, and I can’t promise to save you any. And I’m not cooking just cos you couldn’t get your lazy ass out of bed.”

          Cas released him and started to fall backwards, apparently unconvinced, but Dean grabbed his wrists and kept him semi-upright. Cas groaned and let his head loll back, still trying to lie down, so that Dean was holding him up completely.

          “Knock it off, baby, I’m hungry!”

          “So leave me alone and go eat.”

          “Oh no,” said Dean, getting his arms under Cas’s and hauling him forward. “If you sleep late you’ll be up all night, and you’re a pain in the ass when you’re bored.”

          Cas slumped forward, head on his shoulder; Dean rattled him and dragged him completely off the bed, but instead of supporting his weight he fell to his knees on the floor, pulling Dean with him so that he was bent in half trying to keep Cas upright.

          “I take it back,” he huffed, trying to bring him to his feet. “You’re a pain in the ass all the time.”

          Eventually he cajoled Cas out of the bedroom and even convinced him to put on a shirt, which was full of holes and two sizes too big but definitely an improvement from half-nudity (not in Dean’s eyes, but after a certain little _incident_ last week, which they’d all sworn not to mention ever again, Sam had made them promise to maintain a certain level of dress around him). He was grumpily silent throughout breakfast, not counting the fervent thank you he afforded Sam upon chomping enthusiastically into his sandwich. Dean tried everything to make his brow unknot—well, the task was definitely second to his devouring of breakfast—but he refused to accommodate him for his efforts. After they were done eating, Sam got up to clean the dishes and Dean kicked back in his chair, running a hand over the inside of Cas’s thigh and squeezing.

          “What do you want to do tonight, baby?” he asked, and Cas turned to him, blinking almost dazedly.

          “What?” he croaked, the first word he’d spoken in at least twenty minutes.

          “Big corporate holiday,” he said, causing Sam to turn around from where he was positioned at the sink.

          “It’s a mystery how anyone falls for you, Dean,” he said, amazed. “You’re such a romantic.”

          “Oh yeah? What are you doing then, Samsquatch? Getting a carful of roses and taking her on a yacht by the ocean?”

          “Shut up,” he said, blushing hard, which Dean figured meant he was close if not exaggerating. “Just because your traditional Valentine’s Day is seeing how many tequila shots you can rack up before five doesn’t mean we all spend the day giving out false backstories to crying sorority girls.”

          “Hey, I know I’m no expert! That’s why I’m letting Cas make the plans,” he said, clapping Cas on the back.

          “I think it’s because you’re lazy,” Cas quipped, propping his head up on his hand. Sam roared with laughter by the sink; Dean glowered at them both.

          “Shut up, grumpy,” he said, shoving him so he fell off his arm. “I’ll take you to The Roadhouse and leave you alone with Jo for an hour.”

          “That’s cruel, even for you,” said Sam.

          “Shut up, bitch. Go plan your fuckin’ fairytale wedding and leave me alone.”

          “It’s a _date_ , asshat. Maybe you’ve heard of it.”

          “Look, I’m sorry you need to spend thousands of dollars just to get Jess to let you top sometimes—”

          “That’s disgusting,” Sam griped, pulling a face. “Just because Cas treats you like a dog doesn’t mean you have to act like one.”

          “Fuck you!”

          “In your sick wet dreams, princess.”

          Dean threw a wadded up napkin at him; Sam caught it and tossed it back, hitting him on the forehead. When Dean jumped to his feet and dodged around the counter, trying to tackle him, Sam bolted to his room and slammed the door, abandoning the dishes altogether. Dean cursed and sat down heavily on the couch. After a few minutes Cas came over and crawled onto his lap, arms encircling his waist and head tucked into his collarbone.

          “So what are you thinking?”

          “Hmm?” asked Cas drowsily, lifting a hand to play with the neckline of Dean’s tee.

          “For tonight?” prompted Dean, “Where do you want to go, what do you want to do? My treat.”

          “Can we take a nap?” asked Cas innocently, snaking his other hand up under the hem of his shirt.

          “No, come on! Much as I hate to admit it, Sam’s right. This’ll be the first Valentine’s Day that I won’t be skulking around bars, preying on helpless young women.”

          Cas leaned up to press light kisses to his neck, tracing patterns on his skin with his fingers.  “Please?” he whispered.

          Dean laughed and pushed him back, holding him a few inches away, taking in his languid expression. “Are you trying to seduce me into sleeping?” Not that it’d be the first time.

          “Is it working?” Cas returned sharply, rubbing his thumbs against Dean’s forearms where his hands were clamped. Then he unfroze, and sighed. “Why do people set so much store in made-up holidays? I can guarantee that, aside from the controversial evidence regarding St. Valentine’s existence at all, he did not intend his life’s work to be commemorated with candy hearts and boxes of mixed chocolates.”

          Dean made a thoughtful face. “Now, are you banning _all_ uses of chocolate? Because I think there’s something in the syrupy kind drizzled over—”

          “You’re a child. How important is this day to you, Dean? Really?”

          “I don’t know. The more I realize it annoys you, the more important it becomes.”

          “I hate you.”

          “Oh, you do not,” he dismissed, pulling him back to his chest. “Without me you’d be leading a sexless life, probably in a convent somewhere, spending your afternoons playing Monopoly with schizophrenics and your sister.”

          “First of all, you have no idea what a convent is.”

          “I know it’s not as awesome as dating me,” Dean protested.

          “I don’t know,” said Cas, standing up and brushing imaginary dirt off his flannel pajama bottoms. “Priesthood is looking more and more appealing.”

          Dean lashed out and grabbed him by the waist, pulling him down onto the sofa and wrestling him into a suitable position for him to sit on his abdomen, holding his arms straight and ignoring the legs kicking furiously behind him. Disregarding the multiple allegations about his age and maturity level,          Dean sat on him until he verbally conceded defeat, at which point he climbed off the couch, still holding onto his wrists, and led him into the kitchen.

          “You want coffee?” asked Dean, and Cas shook his head, eyes wide, apparently surprised at this change in direction. Dean shrugged and released him, but after he put the pot on Cas laced their fingers together and leaned his head against Dean’s back, temple on his shoulderblade. Dean turned and wrapped his free arm around Cas’s back, cradling his head against him.

          “When’d you fall asleep last night, baby?” Dean asked, gentle, skimming fingertips over his back and settling on his waist, pushing him back a few inches against the counter.

          “I don’t know. Four? Maybe five?”

          “How come?”

          He swept a hand over Cas’s cheek, settling on his neck, and Cas tugged lightly on the bottom of his shirt, both hands fisted in the green material. He pulled without demand or urgency, just feeling him existing close by. He shrugged.

          “Why don’t you go back and sleep for a few hours?” he suggested, nodding toward his room. “I’ll wake you up at ten, we can decide what we want to do then.”

          “No, I’m awake,” Cas insisted, edging forward to embrace him again. “I just need to shower and I’ll be good as new.”

          “That’d be more convincing if you hadn’t yawned through that entire sentence.”

          “Drink your coffee. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

          He pulled away and turned toward the bathroom, and Dean called out, “Aren’t I invited?”

          Cas looked back and rolled his eyes at Dean’s accompanying smirk, slamming the door in a way that didn’t seem angry so much as pointed. Dean stared at the blank wood for a second, mind wandering. He knew that, objectively, he should take Cas out just because of the romantic nature of the day, but that isn’t why he wanted to do something special tonight; he really wanted Cas to realize exactly how Dean felt, and since he was almost as bad with gestures as he was with words, he figured that he could use the day as an excuse. Not that Cas was any more into the holiday itself than Dean was, so there went his alibi.

          Cas stumbled out of the bathroom when Dean was at the table sipping from his favorite mug, this ceramic piece that changed when it had heated liquid in it, so it looked like it was covered in droplets of blood. He had Dean’s towel wrapped around his waist and was running his hand through his wet hair, which had apparently not seen a towel as it was dripping water onto the floor. He was in and out of the bedroom in less than five minutes, wearing jeans he’d left here ages ago with one of Dean’s big green sweaters, slinging his wet towel over his arm. After he’d thrown it back in the bathroom, he sat down in the chair across from him and kicked his feet up onto Dean’s lap.

          “We should go to Dexter Hall tonight,” he said casually, working his toes under Dean’s t-shirt to press them against his tummy. “There’s some new band playing. I looked them up, they draw off all of your old favorites and dress in signature leather.”

          “Sounds right up my alley,” said Dean, grabbing Cas’s feet and trying to keep them away from his stomach, whose pudgy bottom he hated passionately. “What’s their name?”

          “Lucifer’s Cage,” answered Cas, curling his toes so that they poked his tummy anyway.

          “As romantic as this all sounds,” said Dean, laughing as he finished off his coffee, “Don’t you want to do the whole traditional dinner-and-a-movie spiel? It’s…I mean, it’s how you usually…that’s—that’s how people usually—”

          “Dean,” Cas interrupted firmly. His feet fell back to the floor heavily and he pushed his chair back and stood. Dean watched him raptly as he moved around the table, pulling Dean’s chair out a little when he got to his side. He sat up straighter so that Cas could better straddle his thighs, comfortable as ever being slightly inappropriate. Lips tracing down Dean’s jaw, he murmured, “Do you honestly want to dress up in a suit and make small talk across an overpriced, unsatisfying meal?”

          “No, but—”

          He kissed the corner of his mouth, smoothing his hair back and sliding his hands down his bare arms, linking their fingers together. “Do you want to sit in the back of a theater for three hours, in an uncomfortable seat with too-small armrests and expensive snacks, pretending to enjoy the overused tropes and unimpressive special effects of a traditional action movie that we have, in effect, seen hundreds of times?”

          “ _Die Hard_ is a timeless—”

          He was cut off by Cas’s lips, soft against his own. Unable to extricate his hands to cup Cas’s face he was forced to rest their joined hands against either of Cas’s knees and let him wordlessly convince Dean to abandon the idea of conventional activity. When he pulled away, freeing one hand to push up Dean’s chest without rucking up his shirt, he said,

          “Okay? Can we go see people play classic rock in too much leather?”

          Dean grinned and bumped his nose against Cas’s, kissing him quickly before leaning back. “Yeah,” he sighed, twiddling his fingers against Cas’s in the hand he still had wrapped in his. “Fine. We’ll go watch Satan worshippers dance around on stage.”

          Cas smiled and kissed him again before climbing off his lap, and Dean rolled his eyes at the obvious play, not that he’d exactly minded. He threw Dean’s cup in the sink, but when he started to squirt soap inside, Dean jumped up and hooked his fingers through one of Cas’s belt loops and pulled him away, back toward his room, shouting out, “No chores, I’m wooing you!”

          Biting back a smile, he said, “ _Wooing_ me?” as he shut the door and sat down on the bed, while Dean flitted around getting dressed.

          “Yes, wooing you! Shut up,” he added harshly, cheeks tinged red. “I don’t—I mean, I haven’t had a lot of proper Valentines Days, okay? Let me—just let me—just shut up.”

          Wisely letting the conversation drop, Cas dropped back onto his elbows and watched Dean pull on jeans and a leather jacket over a grey Henley. When he was done, he turned around and jumped on top of Cas where he was half-sprawled out on the bed, looking like an overexcited puppy as he jammed a cap backwards over Cas’s flyaway hair.

          “What are you doing?” asked Cas with a grin, tugging lightly on the pendant around Dean’s neck, trying to pull him down toward him.

          “Oh come on, you can’t go to a death metal concert looking all vanilla hipster!” scoffed Dean, pulling him to a sitting position and lifting his shirt over his head.

          “It’s not _death metal_ —” Cas protested, letting himself be undressed.

          “Whatever, man! You wouldn’t go watch AC/DC in a blue snowflake sweater,” he said, now trying to force him into a torn flannel as dirty as his new hat. “Well,” he amended, slipping the bottom button through its adjacent hole, “ _You_ would. But for this it’d be better if you went grunge.”

          “You just want to see me in your clothes.” Cas rolled his eyes and leaned back so that Dean could better do his work, hands on his shoulders for proper balance. “Not that I mind.”

          “ _No_. If possible, I’d rather you went without clothes at all.”

          “You say that a lot,” Cas commented lightly.

          “I think that a lot,” he returned in the same tone, leaving the top few buttons undone so that he could press his hands inside and over his shoulders and around his neck.

          “We’re not going to have time to eat before the show,” said Cas, pulling at his hair until he leaned down compliantly so that Cas could resume kissing him.

          “Fine, fine,” he said, drawing back and pulling Cas to his feet by his shirt. He started to roll up Cas’s sleeves to his elbows. “You want Biggerson’s? They have a new type of meat sub thing and they started cooking their fries different, extra salt or something, you’d love it. You big fucking sodium freak.”

          “What happened to romantic?” teased Cas, reaching for his sweater.

          Rolling his eyes, he swept the article of clothing off the bed and out of Cas’s reach. Ignoring the question completely, he ordered, “Stop that. I have a jacket you can borrow.”

          “I hate leather,” Cas groused, “It’s uncomfortable.”

          “Tough shit,” he said, turning away.

          “Fine, but I’m not wearing the hat, then.”

          Cas threw the cap back on the bed while Dean, rolling his eyes, rifled through his closet for a few seconds before tossing a coat blindly over his shoulder; it landed on Cas’s head, and he grumbled even though he put it on anyway.

          “You’re buying lunch.”

          “That’s the plan, sweetheart,” he said, smiling widely as he strode up close and put his arms around him, hands shoved deep in Cas’s back pockets.

          “I thought we were leaving,” said Cas, biting his lip to repress his smirk.

          “We are.”

          “Mm, yeah, you seem like you’re getting your keys.” His hands snaked underneath both of Dean’s layers, grabbing at his waist.

          “I am,” Dean insisted, thumbing around the top of his jeans and playing with the buckle on the belt he had to wear to keep them up. “Promise,” he added, kissing him deeply and managing to undo that particular obstacle, but before he could progress further Cas locked a hand around one of his wrists.

          “If you start this now, we really _won’t_ have time. The venue is two and a half hours away and I’m hungry.” Except he was breathing a little more heavily than normal—barely noticeable, really—and the nails on his free hand were digging sharply into the skin of Dean’s side, which pretty much undermined his entire argument.

          While the hand currently held fast twisted around to interlace with Cas’s, the other sneaked up to commence playing with the buttons on his flannel until they fell free.  He managed to undo three of them before Cas reached up to stop that, too, so he leaned down to kiss his neck persuasively instead.

          “What are you doing?” Cas asked breathlessly, tilting his head to bear more of his throat.

          “I don’t know. You look awesome in this shirt. Can I blow you?”

          Groaning loudly, Cas fell against him, arms sliding around his back, face buried in his neck. _“Stop it._ That would be completely unproductive.”

          “Do you mean stop as in _stop_ or stop as in _stop talking and get on your knees_?”

          “Both, kind of,” Cas admitted, nosing at the spot under his ear. “ _Dean_ , we have to _go_.”

          “Very convincing with your hands down my pants,” Dean chuckled. Then he dropped his voice several octaves and whispered: “Please, baby? I’m not asking you to reciprocate.” When Cas started to protest half-heartedly again, Dean amended, “Okay, okay, what if—what if I let you drive?”

          “We don’t have _time_.”

          “I know.” When Cas pulled back to look at him suspiciously, he elaborated: “We leave right now, you drive, and you don’t complain about anything that might happen afterwards because I’m compromising.”

          “You’re a saint.”

          “Shut up! This is a win-win situation for you. What do I get out of this?”

          “This was your idea,” Cas pointed out, stepping back to a safe distance and redoing his belt, watching Dean look at his hands’ work instead of his face. When he was done, he reached out to grab Dean’s hand, leading him backwards out of his room and to the front door. “Come on, _gaha_ , we have places to be.”

 

~*~

 

The customers at Biggerson’s were judgmental assholes today, and even the employees were watching them sideways. Dean had their fingers twined over the table when the waitress came over, and they ordered large fries and two Turducken Slammers, brand new special, one day only.

          “Two straws in the soda, guys?” asked the cheerful blonde waitress, double braids bouncing.

          “Soda?”

          “Free with every order, today only,” she said, still beaming at them.

          “Uh, no, we’re fine,” said Dean carefully. “I don’t like any carbonated drink with less than ten percent alcohol.”

          “I’ll get the soda, though,” Cas volunteered, matching her merry tone.

          She granted Cas a wide smile and cast Dean a strange look as she finished writing their order. Cas smiled ingratiatingly until she walked away, at which point he began muttering some admonition about Dean being a very cute tactless idiot.

          “What? I’m not the one who drove an hour out of the way just to find this specific Biggerson’s when there’s at least three identical ones in a five-mile radius to my apartment.”

          “This one has the best fries,” Cas said, shrugging.

          “Well—Okay, fine, whatever. But what was with her bitch face anyway? That’s Sam’s department, but man, that waitress was rocking it.”

          “You sound like an alcoholic if you mention exclusively drinking beer before five,” Cas said idly, glancing around the room.

          “Well it’s _true_.”

          “The truth is generally tactless, especially coming from you.”

          “Fuck you! I’m awesome. Tact is just not saying true things.”

          “Wow. I never thought _I_ would be teaching _you_ about proper social interaction.”

          Dean kicked him under the table just as the waitress returned with the soda as well as two glasses of water. Still a little bitter, Dean threw Cas’s straw at him, but he caught it nonchalantly, tearing the wrapper off with his teeth and sipping at his soda. When the waitress came back with their food ten minutes later, he still seemed unaffected with Dean’s passive aggressiveness, just sprinkling way too much salt over the fries, dousing his Turducken in too much ketchup (who puts ketchup on Turducken, anyway?), and starting to eat.

          “I hate you so much,” muttered Dean, eyes narrowed even as he reached out to ruffle his hair.

          “I can tell,” Cas said dryly, leaning over to steal some of Dean’s fries.

          Dean pulled his meal away to a safe distance, half-tucked under his arm. “You have a whole plate right there!”

          “But yours taste better.”

          “What does that even mean?”

          Cas grinned. “You’re cute when you’re annoyed.”

          “And you’re a pain in my ass,” he grumbled, reaching over to cap the top of Cas’s straw so that when he pulled it out, some soda stayed within and he could dribble it into his mouth. “Is that why you’re always such a little bitch? Because you think I’m _cute_?”

          Cas shrugged.

          “Fuck that, man, I’m not cute! I’m a fucking warrior!”

          “What exactly do you fight? Rust?”

          “Bite me!”

          “Maybe later.”

          When Dean rolled his eyes in exasperation, Cas kicked him playfully under the table, then hooked his feet behind Dean’s ankles and pulled his legs a little further out so that he could more easily tap their feet together. After a few bites of sandwich, Dean finally said, “I am not playing footsie with you, Cas. What the hell are you doing?”

          “I’m bored! We’ve been on the road for hours,” said Cas, reaching over to commandeer one of Dean’s hands instead.

          Eating a large sandwich was significantly more difficult one-handed, but Cas was resolutely holding onto the arm he had appropriated so he decided to at least attempt it before kicking up a fuss. “What, you want me to take you to the fucking park or something? We played car games all the way up here.”

          “You are extremely temperamental today,” Cas noted, his expression unchanging as he picked up another fry. “Why is that?”’

          “Nothing. I’m not! Eat your lunch.”

          “But you _are_ upset.” He tilted his head slightly, chewing, and then suddenly his expression softened and his voice grew quieter, sweeter. “This is too informal, isn’t it? A chain restaurant with diner food?”

          About to protest, Dean hesitated instead, then twisted around the hand that Cas had in his so that his fingers stroked his wrist. Cas watched him questioningly while he struggled for words, eyes glued to the table. Finally, sighing, he said, “It’s okay, baby. I just—You know what? It doesn’t matter.” He shifted uncomfortably, then clapped his hands together and said, too loudly, “Alright, we done here? There’s a concert three and a half hours away just waiting to see you all done up in grunge.”

 

~*~

 

Between his willingness to drop everything at Dean’s insistence and his careful gentleness in their everyday life, Dean often forgot that Cas was actually super badass. All he had to do was hang onto Cas’s back pockets as he shouldered his way through the crowd, occasionally knocking people out of the way himself, mostly just molding himself to Cas’s back as he elbowed past the hordes of darkly-dressed teenagers and young adults. When a twenty year old woman in thick black eyeliner and a choker tried to block them, Cas shoved her harshly into the man beside her; and when someone grabbed Dean’s arm and tried to pull him back, Cas turned around and punched him across the face before Dean could even move.

          Dean crowded in closer and yelled over the music, “I want to tell you not to fight my battles for me, but that was all kinds of hot.”

          “You’re a caveman,” said Cas primly, turning away and pulling him further into the venue.

          Eventually they reached the front, both pressed against the gate that blocked off the stage. Dean had originally protested, wondering whether they should save the best places for actual enthusiasts, but Cas had waved away his concerns with reassurances that as they were such a new band, they hadn’t yet accrued a sufficient number of fans for Dean’s and Cas’s presence to prove problematic. Which is how halfway through the set found Dean with Cas pressed back shamelessly against the gate, hands shoved up his shirt and lips on his jaw and mouth.

          “What are you, sixteen?” Cas asked, half-laughing through his breathlessness as half-grown leather-clad superfans jostled around them, screaming and singing and doing some weird dance that mixed fist-pumping and standard moshing.

          “What are you, complaining?” Dean returned cheerily, biting at his ear while Cas squirmed beneath him. “A grown-ass man can’t feel his boyfriend up at a concert without getting the full inquisition?”

          “Now you can’t get informal enough,” Cas teased, cupping his face to bring it back level with his own, “And you’re paying too much attention to my neck.”

          That was a first, but Dean didn’t have a lot of time to point out that fact or any others when Cas proceeded to thoroughly occupy his mouth in an almost juvenile way, fitting with the theme of the night as he nipped and sucked and licked with excited vigor. Dean, whose hands were still busy underneath the borrowed flannel, rubbed both thumbs deliberately over each of Cas’s nipples, and he gasped; Dean leaned further down, mouthing at his exposed collarbone, when Cas pushed against Dean’s shoulders to flip them around so that Dean’s back slammed into the metal bars instead. Cas pressed the line of his body all along that of Dean’s and, close to his ear, whispered,

          “Is it too much to ask for us to go off so I can fuck you in the bathroom?”

          Dean groaned and bit down hard on Cas’s bottom lip, soothing over the sore spot with his tongue, which he then slipped in alongside Cas’s, hands roving around his back and down over his ass, squeezing slightly.

          “We can’t, baby, we’ll lose our spot.” Except his voice was practically a moan the whole way through and he was starting to shift a little in place, in time with the beat but barely perceptible. And they were like, _way_ too old for this shit, but as his rhythm picked up he slid his grip to clench around Cas’s hips and put pressure so that he pivoted around, albeit with a slightly bewildered expression that changed quickly to pleasure when Dean fitted the two of them together, back to chest, and started to slowly move in time with the music.

          Dean hadn’t danced like this since his twenty-first birthday, but that didn’t stop him from throwing all his energy into it, grabbing so desperately at Cas’s hips that his hands slipped and he had to replace them, pulling him into him. Cas pressed against him, his back tight to Dean’s chest, and reached a hand around to clench in the hair on the back of Dean’s head. Dean might have smiled at the apparent neediness if he wasn’t caught up in the sensation of Cas’s magnificently firm ass rubbing shamelessly against his dick through the multiple layers of denim, so instead he bent to press his lips to the side of Cas’s neck, his teeth and tongue getting into it as well, marking him swiftly and wildly and extensively and practically basking in the taste of sweat and natural pheromones. After carrying on in this manner for several songs, Cas twisted his head to the side and tugged on Dean’s hair more, searching for his mouth until he acquiesced with a hard, insistent kiss, open and relatively sloppy from this position. This quickly became uncomfortable, so despite the absolutely delicious pressure of his ass pressing back and rocking with him to the drumbeat, Dean allowed him to turn around for a better angle. Even he had to admit that this new arrangement had its advantages when he could tilt Cas’s head back and properly plunge in his tongue, curling it alongside Cas’s in a completely unrefined manner, and then Cas managed to line up and snap his hips against Dean’s and he immediately refracted any protests he may have harbored. Dean moaned against his lips, never fully separating their mouths, and Cas smiled slightly even as he bit down on Dean’s bottom lip and then pulled away to watch his own hands push up Dean’s shirt slightly, and at the tanned skin that appeared in the wake of this movement. Dean growled low in the back of his throat and tilted Cas’s head back with one hand on his chin, so that he was forced to meet his gaze, however reluctantly. Dean reclaimed his mouth. Their hips never stopped working in tandem, pushing and pulling and rocking to the side, until suddenly Cas leaned farther into him so that he stumbled back and was pinned to the gate behind him. Cas curled his fingers through the links in the fence separating the stage from the floor, effectively trapping Dean beneath his body as he continued to rub up against him. Neither of them had ever been more grateful for coat checks, because now there was only one layer to work around instead of two, and Cas was trying to bite through his shirt as it was so that he didn’t have to move his hands to get at what he wanted.

          As Cas moved up to nibble at an ear, Dean said shakily, “So good, baby, so fucking good. You are—Jesus—just fucking perfect.”

          Cas chuckled, low and dirty. “The offer still stands.”

          Dean tightened his grip on Cas’s waist, fingers digging in. “Don’t tempt me.” He dropped his hands back over Cas’s ass instead, remembering what it had felt like pressed back against his cock. He tried to kiss him again, but Cas turned away, face pressed against his chest, and writhed against him even more wantonly, moaning on every upstroke and fisting one hand into Dean’s hair. It was like some perversion of their previous grinding, where now Dean had none of the controls; instead he grabbed at every inch of visible skin that he reasonably could since Cas wasn’t letting him move more than the cursory amount, and he wanted to keep his hands busy where his tongue was not.

          “ _Cas_ ,” he groaned, fingers fumbling with the bottommost buttons on his shirt. “Baby, _fuck_ , I need you...L-Let me—”

          Cas smirked and turned around again, leaving Dean with no choice but to drop his hands back down to Cas’s waist as he fitted his ass back into him, and Dean rutted back almost subconsciously and mouthed at the back of his neck, kissing the knob at the top of his spine and biting at his skin.

          “I want you,” he rumbled lowly. “I want you so, _so_ badly, angel. Come on, sweetheart, I know you want me too. Rubbing your tight little ass back on my cock, moaning for me, so open, all needing and hot and _in public_.”

          Debauched as he looked, Cas sounded utterly composed when he turned his head to say: “We can’t leave, you said so yourself.”

          Dean growled and covered his mouth with his own greedily, biting harshly at his lip and claiming him completely with just his tongue. After a minute or so, Cas pulled away so that he could properly focus on taking Dean apart with nothing more than friction; deprived of the attention he desired, Dean reinvested himself in sucking marks to every available centimeter of skin he encountered, determined to paint him an entirely different color.

          “Fuck, baby, why are you doing this to me?” Dean panted, hands gripping even tighter.

          Cas didn’t answer, but he took one of Deans hands and brought it to his mouth, sucking at the pulse point on the underside of his wrist, licking up his palm; when Dean curled one his fingers against Cas’s lips, he drew it between them. Dean saw his opening, and took it.

          “God, you’re fucking desperate, aren’t you?” he breathed, close to his ear. “I’ll bet you want to sink to your knees right here, don’t you?” He tapped a second finger against Cas’s bottom lip until he started sucking on that one, too. “You could. You know that, right? Fuck, just say the word, I can have you slammed up against the bathroom—”

          “Shut _up_ Dean,” Cas gasped, fingers scrabbling blindly across his cheek. “Please, don’t—Please stop talking.”

          Dean met his mouth again, messy, sloppy. He ran his hands underneath his shirt, scraping nails across his hipbones, and then tried again to unbutton his flannel, this time from behind. He’d already managed two buttons before and was now working on a third and then fourth when Cas stayed his hands, wrapping them in his own and turning long enough to kiss them before going back to kissing Dean.

          “You can’t do that right now,” he muttered, scratching at the backs of Dean’s hands where he had folded them over Cas’s abdomen. His head tilted back to rest on Dean’s shoulder, exhausted, needy. “There are people everywhere—”

          “So let’s _go_.” He paused to tug on Cas’s ear with his teeth. “Come on, come with me. You can have it any way you want it. _Every_ way you want it.”

          Cas turned in his arms, kissing him deeply before pulling back. “Fine, _fine_. Let’s go, damn it.”

          He withdrew far enough to grab his hand and start leading him through the crowd, back out the long way.

          “Where are we going?” asked Dean. “The bathroom’s—”

          “I’m not having sex with you in a public restroom again,” Cas said crossly as they cleared the last row of the mob. “You have your car keys?”

          “Of course I do,” said Dean, though he detoured to push Cas against the brick wall beside the exit.

          “What happened to any way I wanted it?” Cas complained, yanking Dean’s hair.

          “ _Fuck_ , babe, you’re eager now. Considering.” But he fitted a hand beneath his waistband and dragged him out the door, walking backwards.

          They made it to the Impala with only a few more deviations to make out against parked cars. Dean got the key into the driver’s side and unlocked the back door, but he had barely even opened it before Cas shoved him into the backseat and he fell heavily on his back. Cas practically collapsed on top of him, right in between his already-spread legs, and kissed him covetously, snaking a foot into the handhold on the door to pull it shut. Dean tore into his shirt with just enough veracity not to rip it in any way because this was, after all, one of his favorites, and when he finally got it open fully he pushed it straight off his shoulders, but it bunched near his elbows because Cas refused to take his hands off the seat around his head. Dean focused on engaging Cas’s mouth while he undid his jeans, but he had to remove his hands when Cas reached to unfasten Dean’s own before tugging on the top of his Henley.

          “Need you, baby,” Dean ground out, head thumping back against the seat. “God, _fuck_. I want you.”

          Cas nipped at his mouth before pulling away, shaking his shirt to the floor as he did. Dean made an unhappy sound and slipped his fingers through Cas’s belt loops, trying to force him closer.

          “I need to get the lube from the glove compartment,” said Cas composedly.

          Dean whined and pawed at his chest, one hand still firmly lodged in his jeans to stop him from moving. “No way. Come here.”

          Cas rolled his eyes, forcibly removing Dean’s hands himself and then reaching over the front seat. “You’re a child,” he sighed, digging through the mess.

          While he was occupied, Dean toed off his shoes and pushed his jeans off and onto the floor, then laid back down. “That makes you a pedophile,” he said, grinning and tapping Cas’s ass where he was bent over the seat.

          “Lucky me,” he said wryly, climbing back on top of him and pushing him back down flat. “Now shut up.”

          Dean narrowed his eyes and, in an almost defiant manner, curled up to kiss his chest and wrap his arms around his waist, pulling him down into him when he lowered himself flat onto his back again. His mouth never left his skin, sucking and licking reverently and expertly, avoiding the marks already made from previous rendezvous.

          “You are absolutely _gorgeous_ ,” Dean drawled, gasped into the hollow of his throat. “Can I—shit. D’you want me to play with your nipples again, baby?” His hands were already making tracks up his sides.

          “Yes,” Cas breathed, automatic. Then: “No! Wait.” At Dean’s pout, he said, “You told me—you told me any way I wanted it, and I want to fuck you, and I’m not going to last long. So—No.”

          “Yeah. Yeah, okay,” muttered Dean. “Whatever, then, just—just be inside me already, damn it.”

          Normally he would have told him to have patience and proceeded to tease him for a good long while before satisfying either of their needs, but he was too worked up after dancing so he preferred to get down to it as quickly as possible instead. He absorbed him in a deep and insistent kiss while trailing two fingers behind him, and when he pressed inside, Dean arched up into him, his hips at an ideal angle to allow the breach. Cas petted through his hair with his free hand, soothing him through it as he pumped in and out, watching every tick and change in his expression closely.

          “Are you okay, _gaha_?”

          “I’m perfect, Cas,” he said dryly. “ _Ah_ , damn it! Yes, right there, fuck! Why are you still wearing pants, baby?”

          “Relax, Dean.” At this point three fingers knuckle-deep inside of him, he pulled out, carefully not reacting to the way that Dean snapped his hips against him when he did. “How do you want it? On your knees? Your back?”

          “You know I like seeing you, baby,” Dean mumbled, digging his feet, still covered in socks, into Cas’s shoes so they slipped onto the floor. “Now stop teasing me and just—”  
          “ _Okay_ , Dean. You’re very pushy tonight.”

          “Yeah, well, you said you were horny.”

          “Keep it up, assbutt.”

          Dean helped him shimmy his jeans off before attacking his mouth again, dragging him down by his shoulders and lifting his hips up in a silent request. Cas kissed him once and then brought his hands down over his ass to keep him in that position as he lined himself up, and—because he still had a bit of a vindictive streak—he waited until Dean started whining his name and clawing at his chest again before he pushed in, slowly. Even when Dean tried to quicken the pace, he shushed him and continued the languid movement, long but unbroken, until finally he bottomed out and, after half a minute, started to thrust, unhurried and deliberate. Several times, Dean tried to fuck himself back onto his cock, pressing his still-clothed toes against Cas’s, but Cas didn’t do anything other than remove one of the hands holding him up in order to slide it over Dean’s arm, raising it above his head so that he could tangle their fingers together, continuing his rhythm all the while.

          Although he was forced to lean over him due to their current predicament, he resisted the beautiful, arching expense of Dean’s throat in favor of watching his expression, every drawing of his brows or clench in his jaw or subtle shift in the widening of his mouth and eyes.

          “Would you—” He stuttered, gasped, as Cas hitched his legs higher around him and drove into him harder, hitting him just right. “K-kiss me?”

          Cas leaned over him even more, lips hovering close to his skin, only as Dean’s breath faltered he exhaled across the reddening skin of his neck and murmured, “No, _gaha_. You are…too beautiful…not to witness.”

          Dean moaned out his name, _loudly_ , and shot his other hand up to smack against the window, and all the while Cas never stopped murmuring adulations or periodically clenching his hand around Dean’s. He arched up, hands scrabbling at nothing, mouth open and panting, and Cas resisted the urge to map out the dents and ridges of his subtly shifting expressions, all laced with the same pleasure-pain. With some concentrated effort, he wrapped his free hand around Cas’s bicep and hissed, _“Harder_ , fuck!”

          So he did, almost pulling out completely before slamming back in, and with no sound in the car but his own heavy breathing and Dean’s sharp gasps and moans, he came quickly and pretty much sans warning. His fingers tightened around Dean’s hand, his thighs tensed, and pretty much his entire body went rigid, but he was determined to contain his throes, to keep his eyes on Dean’s face, which had awe and reverence etched into the lines in between. He fell down atop him, arms barely holding himself up, and allowed Dean to carefully roll them over into opposite positions, murmuring, “Sorry…I told you I wouldn’t last long.”

          Dean didn’t mind; he straddled his waist and the bottom of his torso and started to jack himself off over his mostly-limp form, head thrown back, eyes closed, simply hearing the steadying breathing coming from beneath him and the nails digging into the backs of his calves, until he came with a shout, all over Cas’s chest.

          He collapsed onto all-fours after, still hovering over him, and Cas fisted one hand in his hair to bring him down into a lazy, sated kiss. Although Cas elected not to bother with the mess on his skin, at least for the moment, Dean rolled off of him all too soon, yanking his own pants on before finding the roll of paper towels they’d started keeping back here for occasions just such as these. He tore off a rectangle and swiped at his chest, somewhat inefficiently but good enough, and stowed it carefully in one of the cup holders for later disposal. Cas donned his boxers and the flannel and then paused to lean back against the window, opening the knees pressed to his chest so that Dean could rest back against him, and one of his legs thudded to floor as they huddled there, listening to the wind kiss the outside of the Impala and whistle through the grill of the car. He carded fingers through Dean’s hair while they half-lay there, peaceful and on the verge of resting.

          After a fair amount of time, Dean finally broke the silence. He tapped on Cas’s knee and asked, “What time is it?” and then the serenity was broken. At Cas’s answer, he groaned and slumped forward so his forehead hit the seat in front of him.

          “We should get going,” he said, forcing himself to a proper position to start wriggling over the seat divider and into the driver’s side. “Before everyone gets out and causes a traffic jam in the parking lot.”

          Cas clamored over the seat as Dean shifted into drive without waiting for him; he turned the car just as Cas launched himself up and over, so he toppled sideways across Dean’s lap and smashed into the door. The Impala screeched to a halt and Dean’s hand fluttered onto the top of his head, thumb massaging gently.

          “You okay?”

          “M’fine,” he mumbled, bracing himself against the door and pushing himself backward into his own space. As soon as he confirmed he was relatively unscathed, Dean started to laugh, shoulders shaking even as he put his foot back on the gas pedal. Cas shoved at his arm and muttered incoherent insults all the way to the highway.

          As Cas never complained about Dean’s music selections—one of Dean’s many habits that he _didn’t_ protest, actually—they played Led Zeppelin literally the entire ride. As Traveling Riverside Blues faded into Ramble On, his muttering diminished to nothing, and his hand crept up onto the seat near the gear shift. Dean rolled his eyes, very privately, and covered it with his own.

 

The apartment was still empty when they finally got home around ten, dark and silent. Dean flipped on the kitchen and living room lights as he walked through, then turned on the radio to some station playing “the greatest romantic hits of the last century!” It was pretty shitty, but he turned the volume low.

          “I’m hungry,” said Cas, while Dean scavenged through the fridge for a bottle of his favorite beer.

          “You wanna get takeout?” he asked, now looking for a bottle opener.

          “No,” he pouted, leaning back on the counter and crossing his arms. “Do you have anything sweet?”

          “You mean,” Dean started, crossing the tiny space toward him, “Besides your ass?”

          “Four less letters on the end and that would have almost been a compliment,” said Cas, flinching away from Dean pinching the aforementioned body part.

          Dean grinned and shrugged away from the counter, setting his beer down as he scoured through the cabinets. As he began the search, he called over his shoulder, “We might have brownie mix. You game?”

          Cas gathered the necessary ingredients, which Dean called out from over by the counter where he was reading the back of the mix box, and then set about gathering bowls and spoons to use. They got egg yolk all over the counter and ruined their socks when they dripped half their water onto the floor, but all in all the batter looked smooth and, frankly, delicious, when they were done.

          “Did you preheat the oven?” asked Dean, turning to check.

          He jumped to get to it while Dean stirred the batter more, smoothing out every lump that he could see. He slid his finger around the edge of the bowl, then stuck that same finger in his mouth and made a low sound of satisfaction.

          “Is it good?” asked Cas, coming up behind him.

          Instead of answering verbally, Dean stuck his finger back into the bowl and then offered it to Cas, who leaned forward to take it, humming as he pulled back.

          “Not as bad as expected, considering how many times we screwed up,” he murmured.

          Dean elbowed him in defensive of his creation, shoving the bowl out his reach when he went to grab for it.

          “We have to bake these!” he protested.

          “Oh, please,” he returned, rolling his eyes. “Nobody ever actually _bakes_ the brownies they make.”

          “No!”

          “Dean,” he said crossly.

          They fought briefly over the counter, Cas trying to lunge for it, Dean holding him back by the waist. In a spectacular feat of balance and abdominal strength, Cas finally managed to reach it, balancing over the arm with which Dean was attempting to restrain him, suspended perfectly parallel to the floor. He pulled it to his chest and jumped away, managing to stop it from sloshing over the edge as he ran around to the other side of the counter, shoved his whole hand in the bowl, and started to lick it off while Dean complained from the other side. By the time he was done, Dean had tapered off into angry silence, glowering; Cas looked between him and his hand for several seconds before conceding,

          “This may have been a bad idea.”

          His skin was still sporting a thin layer of residue, clinging determinedly despite the thorough work of his tongue. Dean abandoned the withering glare to roll his eyes, but he consented to getting a paper towel, wetting it in the sink and beckoning Cas back over to him. He slunk over to his side, dragging the bowl with him. Dean rolled his eyes again and reached out, and Cas let Dean wrap a hand around his wrist so that he could bring it a little higher up and start gently cleaning it off the rest of the way. He kissed him palm when he was done, and Cas cradled his face and kissed him right.

          “Well, now that it’s already contaminated,” Dean sighed then, and he dipped into one of the drawers, removed a spoon, scooped up some batter, and ate the whole thing at once.

          Smiling slightly, Cas hopped up on the counter, swinging his legs and reaching for the utensil. His expression tightened when Dean held it away from him, but instead of bitching at him some more, Dean gripped his arm and held it down while he fed it to him off the spoon.

          “I’m not a child, Dean,” Cas chastised, but he kept his hands around the edge of the counter while Dean continued to feed it to him, occasionally leaning in to press their lips together between mouthfuls.

          Sam and Jessica stumbled in around eleven, pink-cheeked from a whirlwind day of puke-inducing romantic affection, most likely. Although Dean was hard-pressed to make fun of them from his position, given that he was spoon-feeding his boyfriend brownie batter where he was now sprawled across the counter.

          “What are you doing?”

          “Dean is trying to salvage the romance of the evening,” Cas informed him, propping himself up onto his elbows and twisting around to see the new arrivals better. “Apparently rock concerts and fast food are not sufficient, and he hears that chocolate is…proper procedure.”

          Sam stared at them for a full minute while Jess tried with increasing difficulty to stifle her giggles. Finally he said, “You guys are idiots.”

          Now laughing outright, Jess dragged him into his room to leave them alone. Cas stared after them for a few seconds before Dean pushed him flat again.

          “When you start complaining about me pouring chocolate in your mouth, you let me know,” he said, a red flush dusting his cheeks. “Until then, shut up.”

          “Wooing me, right,” said Cas, but he was cut off by Dean shouting, “Cas!” because he had just poured brownie batter all over the lower half of his face due to Cas talking.

          Wrinkling his brow, he moved to swipe away the mess with his arm, but Dean stopped him and, still holding him fast, leaned down to lick it off his cheek and chin and nose.

          “You missed some,” Cas said innocently when he pulled back.

          Having been relatively thorough, he shot him a confused look. “Where?”

          He dipped his fingers in the bowl of batter and smeared it across his mouth, and when he was done laughing Dean dropped the spoon in the sink, lifted him up by his shirt, and kissed him, which didn’t clean him up so much as spread the chocolate to his lips, too. He licked it away before asking, “Anywhere else?”

          When Cas pulled a thoughtful face, he suggested, “Maybe your tongue, too?”

          “Oh, yes. Definitely,” said Cas, nodding vigorously and turning on the countertop, knees over the edge. Dean sincerely tried to hide his smirk. He cupped his face gently and leaned back in to softly coax his lips apart, running his tongue along and over Cas’s, entirely tender and slow. When he leaned back, smiling, he saw that Cas wore a sleepily lulled expression, and his arms were still slung around his neck.

          “What about the roof of my mouth?”

          So Dean complied with that, too, licking over the appointed area while Cas tugged lightly on the strands of hair he had laced through his fingers. When he paused for breath, he trailed his hands down Dean’s arms and then settled on his waist, hands bunching in his shirt. Dean dipped a finger in the bowl beside them and dabbed it on the tip of Cas’s nose, then licked it away; he did the same thing with each temple and the bones under his eyes, then across the dip in his bottom lip. When Dean’s tongue flicked out to wipe it away, Cas let his mouth fall open slightly, so he pressed their lips together a little harder and ignored how Cas leaned into him when he pulled back, hands on either side of him on the counter.

          In the lull, resting their foreheads together, Dean quietly asked, “Ready for bed, angel?” and kissed his forehead and the side of his face.

          “No, _gaha_ , I want more chocolate,” said Cas, reaching into the drawer on the side of the counter and coming up with a new spoon. He had to lick away the excess when he scooped up a sizeable amount of brownie batter and it started dripping off the sides, but before he could consume the rest of it Dean grabbed his wrist and maneuvered the spoon to his own mouth. Even when Cas cried out his name, he just laughed and pulled him to his chest.

          “Come on, I’m sure Sam will want to cook the rest of the brownie batter later. The princess.”

          He grabbed the bowl and went to put it away, but Cas wrapped his legs around his waist.

          “I’m not done eating!” he complained, making grabby hands toward the bowl, but Dean knocked his arms away and held it out of his reach. Still suspending it high above his own head, he darted back in to kiss him quickly, then again, and when he moved away for the second time Cas let him—sighing despite himself—unhinging his legs and allowing him to stow the leftovers in the refrigerator. Cas hopped off the counter and came up behind him, pulling on his hand like a child.

          “Do you want to watch a movie?”

          They probably should have showered, and even though Dean suggested as much, he did so without conviction and they ended up putting on _The Godfather_ instead. Cas had somehow never seen it, so they snuggled up on the couch beside each other, Cas’s head on his chest and hand on his thigh, Dean’s arm slung over his shoulders. Halfway through the movie, Cas suddenly looked up at him, hair tickling under his chin as he moved.

          “You don’t mind, then? That this still isn’t traditional viewing material?”

          Dean blinked blankly at him for a few seconds, then kissed the top of his head and said, “Of course not, baby. I’m not one for the flowers and hearts thing, anyway.”

          “But you said—”

          “It’s okay. I don’t—I don’t need—”

          Cas sat up and twisted around, bracing himself on his shoulders and cutting him off with a kiss. Dean slumped back, relieved that he no longer had to attempt to express himself, and they both turned back to the movie.

          Dean was starting to think he might never have a traditional Valentine’s Day. And he might be a romantic at heart, but to be honest, he didn’t have a real problem with that. He might not get a proper holiday, but after all, he still had Cas.


End file.
